Fenwick's Career

by Mrs. Humphry Ward

Lord Findon stared.

'Fenwick? What on earth does he write to you about?'

'Oh! this is not the first time by a long way!' said Eugénie, smiling. 'He began it in March, when he thought he had offended me—by being rude to Arthur.'

'So he was—abominably rude. But what can one expect? He hasn't had the bringing-up of a gentleman—and there you are. That kind of thing will out.'

'I wonder whether it matters—to a genius?' said Eugénie, musing.

'It matters to everybody!' cried Lord Findon. 'Gentlefolk, my dear, say what you will, are the result of a long natural selection—and you can't make 'em in a hurry.'

'And what about genius? You will admit, papa, that a good many gentlefolk in the world go to one genius!'

The light was still good enough to show Lord Findon that, in spite of her flicker of gaiety, Eugénie was singularly pale. And he knew well that they were both listening for the same step on the stairs. However, he tried to keep it up.

'Genius?' he said, humming and hawing—'genius? How do we know what it is—or who has it? Everybody's so diabolically clever nowadays. Take my advice, Eugénie—I know you want to play Providence to that young fellow—you think you'll civilise him, and that kind of thing; but I warn you—he hasn't got breeding enough to stand it.'

Eugénie drew a long breath.